Disclaimer: I do not own Halo or Mass Effect; I wish I did, but I don't.


September 21st, 2657 (GST)

Enemy-settled system

Enemy Space Station

Racing down the large corridor, her breath hot and heavy inside her helmet, Liara rounded a sharp corner, only to be met by a hailstorm of bullets; quickly, Liara ducked behind cover, bringing her left fist up in a halting gesture, her Asari comrades stopping in their tracks.

The tallest Asari, dressed in light purple armour, addressed Liara: "What's it look like down there, T'soni?"

"Six hostiles captain," replied Liara breathlessly, adrenaline pumping in her veins. "They're taking cover behind three barricades in a triangle formation; the barricade in the centre is protecting an emplaced Heavy Machine-gun?"

Captain Kalyssa D'lor nodded. "All right, here's the play: T'soni, I want you to launch a Singularity at the Machine-gun operator." At Liara's nod, Captain D'lor turned her attention to an Asari Commando in white armour, Valerius Vidoris. "Vidoris, I want you to follow up with a Warp; burn the pyjack to cinders, and I'll take care of the rest."

"Aye, aye Captain," replied Vidoris, her tone cheeky. "Do you want the Natives to be cooked medium rare, or well done?" At the Captain's blank stare, Vidoris simply shrugged her shoulders and muttered, "whatever," under her breath. Ten years younger than Liara, Vidoris is a constant source of tasteless jokes and witless comments. Still, Liara and Captain D'lor tolerate her behaviour, knowing it to be a coping mechanism, helping her deal with the rigors of combat.

And it also helps to lighten the mood during tense situations.

Turning her back to Liara and Vidoris, Captain D'lor spoke to the commander of the accompanying Turian platoon – a Lieutenant Zarek – and advised them to stand back and let the Commandoes deal with this minor annoyance. In the meantime, Liara carefully poked her head around the corner, to observe the defending natives. There they are: a new race among the stars, and surprisingly, another race similar to the Asari, though the fur on their heads would tie them much closer to the Zholan in appearance. Clad in their grey armour, hiding behind their barricades, the natives were talking amongst themselves in their exotic language; not as smooth and cultured as High Thessian, but an odd mixture between the Sharp Turian and brutal Krogan languages.

"Fuck! Why didn't anyone think to bring any grenades!?"

"Who needs a grenade when we've got a turret?"

"Oh, I don't know, so we can flush out the fucking alien invaders from behind cover! Genius!"

"….So, why didn't you bring any grenades?"

"Shut up!"

Liara smirked. She didn't know what they were saying, but she could tell that they were agitated; the pressure is clearly getting to them, making them careless and tense, which is good for Liara and her squad.

"All right, T'soni," said Captain D'lor, getting the younger Asari's attention. "When you're ready."

Liara nodded, took a deep breath, and began channelling biotic energy through her body; an intense, burning sensation spread along her nervous system, setting fire to her veins, super-charging her from head-to-toe with extraordinary cosmic power beyond the reach of mere mortals. With biotic energy crackling throughout her body, she pivoted out from cover and flung out her left arm, releasing a pulsating orb of biotic power, which sped towards the machine-gun operator; but Liara didn't stop to see the Singularity strike the machine-gun operator. She was already flinging herself behind cover, opposite to her fellow commandoes and Turian Troopers. Hearing the sounds of dismayed cries from the natives, Liara peaked behind cover, more boldly than last time, and saw the machine-gun operator thrashing about wildly as he orbited the black, pulsating orb the Singularity, hanging high above, as its comrades stared gapingly at him, shouting in their native language.

"Space magic!"

"Are you fucking kidding me!?"

"This is the work of Gypsies!"

Unfortunately for the natives, Valerius took advantage of their distraction to make her move; her body wrapped in a Mass Effect field, Valerius fired a Warp at Liara's Singularity, causing a violent, planet-cracking explosion which engulfed the machine-gunner, simultaneously blowing him to pieces and charring his remaining body parts. Liara shielded her eyes from the glaring light which filled the corridor, temporarily blinding the remaining defenders.

When the light subsided, Liara noticed a blackened mass of flesh on the floor nearby; she didn't have time to dwell on this disturbing imagery, as Captain D'lor casually approached the entrance to the enemy-held corridor, with a grenade in her left hand; when she pressed a button on the top, activating the weapon, Liara got a good view of what type of grenade it was, and her eyes widened.

A Thannix Grenade! A brutal weapon salvaged from the Yahg.

With expert grace, Captain D'lor smoothly rolled the grenade towards the enemy, and when it reached between the barricades, she detonated it; Liara cowered behind cover, her eyes shut tightly as a bright red flash consumed the native defenders, showering them with molten metal, their agonized wails sounding throughout the corridor, steam billowing about them as the molten metal burned through their armour, then slowly through their skin, muscles and bone, so slowly.

The Yahg definitely knew how to make weapons that punish.

"The coast is clear, let's go," declared Captain D'lor, her face impassive as she looked at what remained of the native defenders. "That door behind the central barricade should lead to this station's control centre. One more push, and the mission will be over."

And that is something Liara would be very happy about; she's already spent too much time on this goddess-damned station with stubborn and hostile natives and their primitive weapons that pack too much punch. It doesn't help much knowing that down below is a colony-world waiting to be conquered, no doubt with tens of thousands of these natives, reinforced with air support and heavy armour.

This campaign has only just begun, but judging from the battle for this station, it has all the makings of a fine bloodbath.

As her squad led the Turian platoon to the bulkhead doors, Liara (who was taking point), saw that one of the natives was still barely alive, but in horrible agony, gasping and thrashing about the floor; without hesitation, Liara aimed her Shuriken and fired a short, controlled burst, peppering the creature with slugs, killing it and putting it out of its misery.

Sometimes it surprises Liara, how easily she is able to take lives, considering she never wanted to be a soldier, or believed that she had the tits for combat.

Her dream in life was to be an archaeologist, to uncover and study the secrets of long-dead civilizations; specifically, the Protheans. That enigmatic race lost to the sands of time had utterly fascinated Liara, for without them, and the technology they left behind, Galactic Civilization would not exist. It was only because they had built the Mass Relays and the Citadel, that the Asari, Salarians, Turians, and the races under their authority, have come so far, and achieved so much. And yet, despite everything the Protheans accomplished, their civilization fell, their race extinguished, leaving behind nothing but their greatest works of engineering, and a few dilapidated outposts scattered across the Known Galaxy.

How can the Citadel Council avoid the same fate?

It was that thought which drove Liara's desire to become an archaeologist, the naive belief that by studying the Prothean's failure as a species and civilization, she could use that knowledge to ensure the long-term survival of modern Galactic Civilization, and enable them to endure forever. But Liara knows better now: nothing lasts forever. Civilizations rise and fall, and species will grow and prosper, and eventually become extinct, just as assuredly as Liara will grow old and die. The Asari, Salarians, Turians, even the Yahg, will fade away and become extinct after their moment in the sun, to be replaced by newer, younger races. All of this would go on and on, in a never-ending cycle, until the Universe itself dies of entropy.

Liara now understood why her mother had so disdained her dreams.

Of course, Liara never had a choice in regards to her future path; as she turned thirty years old, she was conscripted into the Asari Republics Military. The Asari Militarization Act was a bitter pill to swallow for many young Maidens, who under different circumstances, would be spending their first centuries hiring themselves out as Mercenaries or pole dancing in sleazy nightclubs, but with the Yahg aggressively pressing against their borders, it's just what had to be done. And Liara had supported the Act, seeing its necessity, but only in theory; when it actually came time for her to step up, she felt quite weak and small, unsure of herself.

Despite her misgivings, Liara excelled at bootcamp; it wasn't a picnic by any stretch of the imagination, but she did better than her fellow cadets, not because she was unique or specially talented, but because her mother, Matriarch Benezia, had arranged for her to be given commando training during her youth, which had already conditioned her for life in the military. Liara complained every step of the way (as she always did every time she was pulled away from her studies), but in the long run, it greatly benefited her; the fact that her training was overseen by her 'father,' Matriarch Aethyta, had provide something of an incentive for her. Liara saw so little of Aethyta, she was happy to spend as much time with her as possible, especially when Benezia became unbearable in their disagreements.

Over the course of seventy-six long years, her career in the Asari Republics Military has moulded Liara from a naïve, socially awkward young lady, to a hardened and confident commando. She still keeps up to date with the latest discoveries in the field of archaeology, but now, her life as a warrior has begun to define her, as she has spent less time as a civilian.

As Liara and her squad drew close to the bulkhead doors, she heard Lieutenant Zarek bark a few orders at his men, prompting one of them rush ahead to the doors, carrying a breaching device in his hands, which he then attached to the doors. Captain D'lor turned to Liara: "T'soni, get a smoke grenade primed and ready; when the bulkhead doors are breached, I want you to pop some smoke through."

Nodding in the affirmative, Liara took out a smoke grenade from a pouch on her hip, and moved up behind the Turian setting the breaching charge; just one more push, and the mission will end.

September 1st, 2597 (Military Calendar) 1930 hrs.

Epsilon Indi System

The Tiara, Control Centre.

Major Jennifer Atkins cursed under her breath as she observed the invaders on her monitors; they have just breached the last line of defense leading to the control centre, and are now preparing breaching charges on the bulkhead doors.

The last thing Major Atkins would have expected was an alien invasion; pirates, yes, but not aliens. The battle began like a typical pirate raid, with the hostiles boarding the Tiara; standard procedure for pirates. But it was when the fighting began, when the invaders breached the hangar, that's when their strangeness revealed itself; they fired weapons which were clearly more advanced than anything the UNSC, NCA, or pirates have ever dreamed of (and which, unfortunately, don't seem to run out of ammunition). And then, there was the space magic; Major Atkins could not forget the moment when her jaw dropped in stupefaction when she witnessed one of the aliens light up like a blue star and fired some type of cosmic energy at her troops (fortunately, only one in ten of the aliens have this strange, telekinetic power; unfortunately, their lack of numbers didn't counter their effectiveness in battle.

And finally, there was the glaringly-obvious of the alien body structure of the majority of the invaders; their legs are bent in different ways, they have three digits on each hand, and they bleed purple-blue blood, a dead giveaway, really. In fact, one of her cameras managed to give her a close-up of a dead alien with its helmet blown off, and she saw a some-what avian face with a thick carapace and sharp teeth; Jennifer thought it looked like a turkey.

She wasted no time informing General Jenkins of the situation, who was quite visibly shocked but was quick to compose himself and assure her that he would inform HIGHCOMM ASAP and appraise them of the situation. In the meantime, her orders were to observe the enemy and compile as much Intel as possible; strengths, weaknesses, tactics and technology.

And Jennifer did just that: she observed as the invaders fought hard to gain control of the hangar, the 'witches' using their telekinetic abilities to strike at the machine-gun emplacements, creating barriers to protect themselves and the 'turkeys' from the relentless hail of bullets. She watched as the witches charged into a squad of troopers, its body a blue-glowing blur; she watched as bullets glanced off personal energy shields, seemingly unaffected, only to fail at the last minute and allow bullets to penetrate through the armor, and kill before the targets could get back behind cover and recuperate.

All too quickly, the invaders captured the hangar, and when that happened, Jennifer knew that the Tiara would fall; with the invaders having gained a foothold in the station, they could send in more troops to reinforce and relieve the exhausted boarders. And when the invaders began to advance deeper into the Tiara, they didn't rush into the waiting guns of the defenders; they took their time, used scouts to evaluate threats, and planned accordingly. The battle for the hangar was a bloodbath for the invaders, but the battle for the Tiara was a careful, methodical advance which left more Humans dead, than aliens.

And now they've reached the Tiara's nerve centre.

Jennifer gave an inward sigh and steeled herself for the coming fight by taking what will most likely be her final look at a picture of herself and her son, James Atkins. There she was, with her close-cropped blonde hair, black, squinting eyes, thin lips, pale skin, and a stern bearing only slightly softened by the eight-year old child held close to her chest; she was young back then only twenty-nine, but battle-hardened.

James is an adult now, a successful business-man, a devoted husband and father of two girls, Susan and Lillian. Jennifer doesn't know much about them, as she has trouble keeping in contact with James, and even then, he is reluctant to engage in much small-talk with her. No one who would glance at her picture would guess that the beaming boy, leaning back into his mother's embrace, would grow to resent her for her many absences throughout his childhood and teenage years. As she would go away for months at a time, Jennifer would leave him in the care of her sister, his beloved aunt Jill, who would treat him as her own son, but it was never enough for James; what he wanted, what he needed, was his mother. Unfortunately, the UNSC needed her and every able-bodied man and woman to put down the Insurrection.

Jennifer shook her head and slipped the picture under her breast plate; she is a highly decorated officer in the UNSC military, a veteran of some of the bloodiest battles of the Insurrection, but she royally fucked-up as a mother, as Jill is fond of pointing out to her. When she first enlisted into the UNSC, it was because she and her friends wanted adventure and the opportunity to explore the colonies, but after James was born, she wanted to fight as hard as she could so that he could live in peace in a galaxy no longer torn apart by war; in the end, though, it was her dedication to her duty and her desire to protect James that drove a wedge between them.

And now, at forty-eight years old, Jennifer feels like an old lady, burdened by bitterness and regret, and waiting and hoping for the day when James can find it in his heart to forgive her, or when death comes for her like an old friend.

Clearly, this is the day for the latter.

Slapping her grey helmet onto her head, Jennifer silently fumed to herself as she contemplated her failed relationship with James, and the coming battle with the enemy. What was it all for anyway?! I spend years of my life fighting hard to end the Insurrection, only for James to resent me; sure, I can take solace in the fact that he is happy with his family and successful in his livelihood, but how long will that last now that we're facing the prospect of a new, all-out war? It's been ten years since the end of the Insurrection, and we're still picking up the pieces; what if the aliens run rough-shod all over us in our weakened state? What will become of Humanity? Of James? Will the aliens enslave us, or exterminate us? Are all the sacrifices I've made worthless, now that a new war is on the horizon?

Handling her M135 Shotgun, she began to load it with eight shells, then switched it to automatic reload - she won't need to pump the barrel - and then she strapped it around her shoulder. She then began to adjust her M0 Submachine gun, attaching a recoil stabilizer. Satisfied with her weapon load out, Jennifer made her way to the stairwell, atop which stood a soldier manning Machine Gun emplacement, pointed towards the bulkhead doors behind which the invaders are preparing to storm the control centre; on either side of the stairs were five soldiers taking cover behind deployable barricades – two on the left, and three on the right. And in front of the barricades are several rows of consoles leading up to the walls on either side of the bulkhead doors; Jennifer narrowed her eyes at the consoles, knowing that the enemy will most likely use them for cover.

Walking down the stairs, she took position on the left-hand barricade, and looked around at the young men she'll be fighting with; a cursory glance was enough to understand that morale is low among them, a feeling of mournful resignation filling them up as they contemplated their doom at the hands of the inhuman monsters on the other side of the bulkhead doors. As she observed the men around her, Jennifer realized, with a bitter taste in her mouth, that she'll need to boost morale through some kind of speech, and Jennifer was not one for speeches; no, she commanded loyalty and respect with a cold and firm hand, not with flowery, uplifting speeches. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

"All right boys, listen up and listen good!" She began, eyeing the soldiers one by one, her lips twisting and twitching as though what she has to say is making her sick; the men, for their part, are watching her as though expecting her to chew them up and spit them out for some trivial reason, such as not being cheerful at the prospect of dying in this floating tin-can, in the ass-end of the Galaxy, far away from their homes and their loved ones.

"If we're lucky, then decades from now, armies of academics will note this day as the day when the age-old question of whether or not we are alone in the Universe is answered, and will likely spend thousands of ours debating about what it all means; me personally, I think those academics should spend more time and effort on the question of 'how will we fool women into seeing past our nerdy exteriors so that we can get laid and die happy, and not sexually frustrated.'" Some dry chuckles from the boys, much of the tension alleviating.

"Seriously, that's only if we're lucky; we don't know much about these aliens. We don't know about their goals, how big their territory and military is, or how old they are as a space-faring civilization. But we do know one thing, and it's really all we need to know: they are here looking for a fight, and by God, we'll give them one! Everything we do up here in the Tiara, everything General Jenkins and the Harvest Defense Force does down there is going to affect how these aliens perceive our species as a whole, and so, we must show them our teeth! We must show them that we're not going to bend over for them simply because they've smashed down the front door and punched us in the faces!"

Many of her boys were nodding at her now, caught up in her passionate speech-so was she, come to think of it. "I'm sure you all have loved ones-parents, sisters, friends, many even a girl you're sweet on; no doubt the thought of never seeing them again horrifies you, but take comfort in the fact that by fighting and dying here, you'll be keeping them safe from the coming war. Take comfort in that." Jennifer certainly does, and can only hope that when her body is brought to Earth after the conflict is resolved, James will come to understand and accept her choices in life; hopefully, he'll understand that she did it all for him.

A thumping sound from the bulkhead doors drew her attention, followed by the sizzling sound of a torch burning through metal; Jennifer and her comrades braced themselves, aiming weapons at the bulkhead doors that are now sparking and smoking, a flame cutting through like knife through butter. And then the flaming torch died, revealing a circular hole through the bulkhead doors, out of which came a small round object, dropping down, clattering on the floor.

Grenade!

A great mass of smoke erupted from the grenade, mushrooming until it obscured the bulkhead doors, blinding the defenders; from behind the smoke came the sounds of grinding metal, the doors being pried open. And from within the smoke, came shifting, shadowy shapes.

"Gunner, open fire!" barked Major Atkins. "Blanket those doors!"

Immediately, the thunderous sounds of lead being propelled at one-thousand, one-hundred metres per second filled the control room, as the gunner blanketed the entrance with a barrage of death; even though the enemy can't be seen through the smoke, the chaingun's high rate of fire will ensure some casualties, and sure enough, Jennifer could hear the satisfying sounds of bullets smashing through flesh, limbs tearing apart, and dying screams.

But some aliens made it through, taking cover behind the consoles; the soldier on her left took a shot at an advancing alien, downing it as it thrashed at its bleeding throat. Spying a gun pointing out from behind a console, Jennifer quickly ducked behind the barricade, just as shots pinged against it. In response, Jennifer raised her SMG above the barricade, blind-firing at her assailant; hearing nothing more than metallic pings, she assumed that she missed, and retracted her weapon behind cover.

Hearing a cry of pain from behind, Jennifer looked over her shoulder to see the Chaingun Operator lying on his side, clutching at his bloody leg; his pathetic groans were quickly silenced by several shots to his chest, killing him. Poor bastard couldn't have been older than twenty.

Peeking her head out from cover, Jennifer saw the smoke dissipating at long last, revealing the corridor beyond to be filled with aliens, and at the forefront were three Witch-aliens, clad from head-to-foot in exotic armour, strolling through the Bulkhead doors like they owned he fucking place. Just watching them strut about made her blood boil; emerging from behind cover, Jennifer fired her SMG at one of the Witches. Unfortunately, her target has already seen, and began a mad dash for cover; Jennifer only managed to hit the aliens' energy shield.

Jennifer gasped as she was lifted high into the air, her body shrouded in purple-blue light; wildly looking around, she found the cause, saw one of the Witches with her arm directed at her, and with a flicking gesture, Jennifer was roughly flung over the stairs and she crashed into the wall, her head ringing sharply despite the protection afforded by her helmet, and she fell to the floor.

With her head pounding and her vision blurry, Jennifer got up to her hands and knees, her shotgun dropping down as its strap slid off her shoulder; dimly, she can hear the sounds of gunfire, and of her boys crying out as they died. Sitting up, with her back propped up against the wall and facing the stairs, Jennifer realized that everything had gone silent, which could mean only one thing: she is alone with the enemy. Hearing footsteps coming up the stairs, Jennifer grasped her shotgun and pointed it at the coming alien, her finger on the trigger.

A sit quickly emerged from the stairs, Jennifer fired her shotgun at the alien, hoping to stuff it full of buck-shot; but the alien was ready, raising her left arm to generate an energy barrier, protecting her; then, with a slash of its right arm, Jennifer's shotgun was pulled from her grasp, alien energy sending it clattering on the floor. Then, with inhuman speed, the alien charged towards Jennifer, grabbed her still-recovering body, lifted her up to her feet, ripped the helmet from her head, and forced her head against the wall.

A burning pain, a bright flash, and then darkness and silence.

September, 1st, 2597 (Military Calendar) 20:00 hrs.

Epsilon Indi System

Orbit of Harvest

The Sabre Space fighter developed by the NCA during the 2560s was an underpowered piece of junk that required a vertical launch, staged rocket-system in order to reach the orbit of a planet; this is probably due to the fact that the Sabres were originally atmospheric fighters which were modified for orbital usage. In contrast, the YSS-3,000 Sabre, developed by the UNSC, is superior to the old model in every way; for example, it is perfectly capable of entering and leaving the atmosphere under its own power without relying on primitive rockets that wouldn't have looked out of place on spacecraft made in ancient times, before Interplanetary Colonization (but that's not saying much, when you consider the fact that most UNSC craft, such as the Pelican and the Longsword, are capable of doing so, as well). It's amazing, really, that the NSA managed to grab the UNSC by the balls when they had such 'brilliant' minds heading their R and D division.

These were the thoughts that occupied Lieutenant Commander David Elliot's thoughts as he and his RIO, Lieutenant Misa Ichijyo, held on tightly as their Sabre rose high above Harvest, the cloudy overcast giving way to blue sunlit skies. The Sabre shuddered violently as it breached Harvest's upper atmosphere, day quickly turning to darkest night, stars shining through the gulf of space; alongside his Sabre, were the flaming trails of hundreds more Sabres and dozens of Longsword fighters.

And floating in orbit above Harvest is the alien fleet, numbering at nearly fifty. Hopefully, at the end of their strike, there'll be less.

"Whoa, such an eyesore!" exclaimed one of Elliot's wingmen, Corporal Lassalle Dyson, a cocky young woman from Mars and an ace pilot; she could run loops around the best pilots in the Outer Colonies. "We so need to pull the rug out from their feet, before they get it in their heads the moronic idea that they're welcome to go to town on us!"

"While I agree that the invaders need a boot up the backside, I wouldn't go so far as to say that their fleet is an eyesore," countered Elliot's second wingman, Corporal Jack Evans in a calm, easy going tone. "In fact, I think their ships are quite pleasing to look at." Elliot couldn't help but agree: the alien ships were nothing like the ships built by Human hands. They were smooth and graceful, whereas UNSC ships were rough and ugly.

Dyson snorted contemptuously. "Sure, they look nice, but can they withstand the kind of punishment that our ships can tank? They don't look tough, is all I'm saying."

"They've probably eschewed heavy armour on their ships, to make them more maneuverable in combat," suggested Elliot, his eyes never leaving the enemy vessels.

"Elliot!" exclaimed Lieutenant Ichijyo, her voice snapping him out of his thoughts. "I've got multiple contacts coming from the alien fleet – about three-hundred Interceptors!"

"All right, people, listen up!" chimed in Captain Aaron Ulanhu on the radio. "It seems we've poked the hornet's nest and they've come out to sting us. Those Interceptors are between us and our targets, the enemy flagship and its escort of Frigates; so take them out and protect the Longsword fighters at all costs. Captain Ulanhu out!"

"Well guys, it seems we're about to dance all night long with the invaders," said Elliot, as he casually observed the advancing tide of enemy Interceptors. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready, sir," stated Dyson cockily, and Elliot could almost hear the smirk in her voice.

"Ready and able, sir," confirmed Evans confidently, calm and collected, as always.

The enemy Interceptors got close enough for Elliot to see them with the naked eye; to him, they looked like flying arrowheads. When they reached engagement range, Elliot was the first to dive into the fray, his wingmen closely following. With a pull of the trigger on his stick a torrent of armour-piercing bullets struck the lead Interceptor, the pilot canopy shattering and the engines tearing apart, a great spark of flame exploding and guttering out in mere moments, starved of oxygen in the vacuum of space.

A dozen more explosions among the enemy formation confirmed that his comrades had hit their targets spot on; but now, the enemy's counter-attack begins. Alarms sounded in Elliot's cockpit, alerting him that he has been locked-on; one enemy Interceptor in front of him had launched a pair of torpedoes, shining like two blue dwarf stars and flying straight at him!

"Evasive manoeuvres!" barked Elliot, sharply pulling back on the stick and causing his Sabre to pull up, the two torpedoes following closely on his heels. "Launching flares!" announced Elliot, his left hand pulling on a lever above him. Immediately, a flurry of red-burning flares erupted out of the Sabre, their brightly-burning light confusing the sensors on the torpedoes, causing them to detonate prematurely. Before Elliot could sigh in relief, however, he was already under attack from behind and he rolled the Sabre to dodge the flurry of projectiles from the pursuing Interceptor.

"Sir, hostile contact coming from behind and closing fast!" reported Ichijyo, and Elliot had to refrain from rolling his eyes and snapping at her: he didn't need her to tell him what had already become obvious. Pulling the stick to the left, Elliot began to bank sideways to avoid the deadly hail of projectiles from his pursuer, but no matter how much he rolled or turned, he couldn't shake off his enemy.

"Friendly approaching from behind, sir!" reported Ichijyo, just as the incoming from the pursuing Interceptor halted abruptly. "Er, sir, the enemy seems to have been neutralized and Corporal Dyson is approaching from behind." And sure enough, Dyson's Sabre pulled up next to theirs.

"Thanks, Dyson," said Elliot gratefully over the comm. "I owe you one."

She snorted and replied jovially: "More than one."

"Yeah, yeah, time to get back into the action!"

But there was no longer a battle. The enemy Interceptors were already eliminated at the cost of half of the Sabres. Regrouping with his other wingman, Elliot and his squadron then enveloped a Longsword fighter, protecting it as all the gathered space fighters headed for the enemy fleet.

Protecting the Destroyer, no doubt the enemy's flagship, was a mass of frigates and corvettes: they need to be destroyed first, before they can reach the Destroyer. As they approached the enemy fleet, the Longsword fighters began to fly ahead of the Sabres, acquiring target locks and preparing to fire their Shiva-class nuclear warheads.

And when their targets were in range, two dozen Longsword fighters fired their Shiva Nukes, smoke trailing behind the weapons of mass destruction as they flew true towards their targets; but suddenly, and without warning, thin golden beams sprung out from the enemy warships, striking the nukes head-on and causing them to explode, dozens of hot, blazing stars erupting before them.

Then the light from the nukes faded and the lasers from the invaders struck down many sabres and Longswords, until the UNSC forces turned and retreated from the massacre. But one of Elliot's wingmen, Corporal Evans, was engulfed in flames and flying metal as he was struck down during the retreat, much to Elliot's and Dyson's rage.

"Those bastards are going to pay for that!"

As the Sabres regrouped beyond the reach of the enemy ships point defense lasers, Captain Ulanhu spoke up through the comms. "We lost a quarter of our forces in that sortie, and forty-eight of our Longsword fighters depleted their ordnance of Shiva Nukes. Not only that, but when one of our Sabres was shot at, it swerved and crashed into an energy barrier protecting one of the enemy ships." He paused to let that sink into the listening squadrons. "We're not sure how much damage that barrier can withstand before collapsing, or whether or not all the ships have one; it's best for us to err on the side of caution and assume that the enemy ships are protected by one.

"Here's the plan: the Sabres and Longswords will attack sequentially, in two waves. When the first wave of Longswords fire their Shiva Nukes, the escorting Sabres are to fire whatever missiles they have left in their inventory; the large number of missiles covering the nukes will hopefully confuse the targeting sensors of those point defense lasers, increasing the likelihood of a nuke slipping through and striking its target. Hopefully, the first wave of nukes will bring down those energy barriers, allowing the second wave to neutralize the ships."

And then Captain Ulanhu began to assign which squadrons are to be in which wave, and Elliot and Dyson were thrilled to know that they were in the first wave; they now have the chance to deal a decisive blow against the invaders and avenge their wingman, Evans.

"See you on the other side, Dyson," said Elliot somberly, as his Sabre and squadron charged towards the waiting enemy ships, floating serenely, completely at ease, without a care in the Universe.

"Drinks are on me, sir," replied Dyson, her normal jovial tone replaced by solemnity. And as they reached engagement range with the enemy vessels, all the Sabres and all the Longswords in the first wave expelled all of their ordnance, hundreds of speeding, smoking missiles lunging towards the enemy, like a great wall of death, and though the enemy's lasers struck down many, some made it through, striking the barriers. The Nukes worked their fiery magic of death, engulfing the ships in a blinding flash light; but Elliot didn't see the light subside. When he tried to turn his Sabre away, to retreat and make way for the second wave, a laser struck through his Sabre's canopy, melting through the glass, piercing his chest, burning, searing and blazing through the engines, causing them to explode, destroying Elliot and his Sabre.

His death was instantaneous.

September 1st, 2657 (GST) 20:52 hrs.

Enemy Settled System

Palavan's Fist

Orbit of enemy Colony-World

Although he appeared to be calm on the outside, Vice Admiral Viktor Cassius was absolutely furious and aghast as he observed the fiery and broken remains of three frigates and one cruiser as they drifted towards the enemy colony-world, caught in its gravity well.

The Pacification Campaign is off to a bad start.

Sure, the Space Station was taken and claimed by his forces, and several enemy soldiers were captured and are being ferried over to the Palavan's Fist, to be placed in the brig as prisoners; but there were too many casualties and the Space Elevators connected to the station are locked down, rendered useless to his forces. A whole lot of bloodshed for little strategic gain, except for the prisoners, cadavers to be given to the Salarians as biological specimens, and salvaged enemy weapons, to be studied for weaknesses.

And shortly after the station was conquered, his fleet came under attack by Space Fighters of all things; at first, he was disdainful at the desperation of the Natives, sending those fighters to engage ships of war. After all, Space Fighters are only used by the CDF for defensive purposes, so what use would the Natives' fighters be against his ships?

Once more, Viktor fell victim to his assumptions.

Viktor sighed. Regardless of these setbacks, his fleet is still strong and the Natives seemed to have exhausted their space assets; the orbit of this colony-world now belongs to him. From orbit, he'll 'e able to identify military bases, communications relays, transportation networks, refueling hubs and other vital industries. He'll use his ships to blast the military bases from orbit, whittle down their defenses to make it easier for General Longinus to lead the invasion planetside.

Viktor can only hope that General Longinus can conquer the colony before the Natives send reinforcements; if not, then his ground forces would be fighting a battle on two fronts, with the defenders on the ground and Interplanetary Troops arriving from orbit, while Viktor's fleet would need to contend with the Natives' Navy, and whatever exotic weapons and technology they would have at their disposal.

And should Viktor lose the future battle in space and is forced to withdraw, then General Longinus and his forces would be trapped between a rock and a hard place, with no means of escape.


Author's Note: Damn this is awkward; If you're mad at me, I won't blame you. I know what it's like to wait forever and ever for a story to update and for that, you have my apologies.

Truth is, I've been very nervous about this chapter as it's the first time I've ever written action sequences and I just couldn't help procrastinating over it; Doom coming out in May certainly didn't help at all. I was planning to continue this in October, but then came Gears of War 4, Titanfall 2 and COD: Infinite Warfare(which blows, big time). I've also had to do a whole lot of jobsearching throughout the year, applying for jobs and getting rejected all the bloody time, so my unemployed ass has also been highly depressed.

But it's all over and done with: I AM going to continue this story and I WILL finish it!

R and R, and thanks for all the fish!